This week I read a new poem – “Cape Cod Pantoum,” by Maria Narzos – that a friend shared with me. You can read it or listen to it here, in The New Yorker. I’ve written a couple of Pantoum poems before, and this poem inspired me to try a new one.
The traditional form for the Pantoum poem is in 4 stanzas, each stanza of four lines, with a particular rhythm of repetition. … Don’t miss the note at the end of the poem for more information about the Pantoum!
Water, All That Water
Water, all that water between Seattle and Hawaii.
Driving along the comma-road edge
of water in the dark,
Turn left and you’ll fall into the ocean.
Driven along the edge of the water:
How many long-ago paths lie beneath this highway?
Turn left into the ocean and you’re drowning,
Canoes pass between islands.
How many roads lie beneath the land
crossed by lost ancient ones.
Swim your canoes between islands,
Catch the silvery fish wink in an eye.
Cross the ancient paths
of water in darkness,
Catch the silver eyes of fish among
water. All that water between here and there.
When I fly across the ocean in a plane I am struck by how immense it is. All that water. Do you live near the ocean? Do you have a favorite part of the ocean? What is your favorite ocean memory?